


Oh Dear, Oh Dear

by methylviolet10b



Series: Looking-Glass Elevator [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Injury, Phobias, Snark, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally's late for a very important date. That's the least of her worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Dear, Oh Dear

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Injury, trauma, references to Lewis Carroll, plottus interruptus. And absolutely no beta.
> 
> Author's Notes: Written for thebeastherself. She gave me quite the plot bunny - two of them, in fact. This one got rather out of control, and yet probably didn't hop as far as she expected. 
> 
> Beta by: Nobody. Utterly unbetaed, written and posted in a rush. You have been warned.

“Any luck?”  
  
Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan put back the lift’s emergency phone with a growl of frustration. “None. It’s deader than a doornail.”  
  
“A trite and ultimately meaningless expression. Technically, doornails were never alive, so they can’t be dead, either.” Sherlock’s disdain was rather muffled by the handkerchief he held against one side of his face. In the faint, bizarrely-colored light provided by two mobiles, the spreading stain gradually dulling its whiteness could have been any color, but Sally knew it was crimson. She knew it, because she’d seen the cuts beneath the cloth, the vivid impression of the metal watch band and now-shattered face of John’s watch standing out briefly against his pale skin before the lines blurred with blood, just before the lights went out.  
  
“I understood it well enough, Sherlock.” John’s voice was deceptively mild, but Sherlock sat back like a scolded child. No – not a scolded child, but one that didn’t know what to do to comfort another, except hide the lesser hurt in hopes of soothing the greater one. Sally knew that no matter how badly Sherlock’s face might be paining him, John was hurting far worse. Never mind that it had been an accident, that they’d all crashed around helplessly like beads in a rattle when the elevator suddenly dropped, then slammed to a bone-jarring halt.  
  
The doctor kept his eyes on Gregson’s pupillary response, but Sally had the distinct impression that John Watson was closely monitoring each and every person in the confines of the stuck elevator, the military doctor in him brought forcibly to the fore by the emergency situation, allowing the friend in him to hide from the accidental harm he’d done his friend. “What about mobile signal?”  
  
“I haven’t been able to get any anywhere in here on the three I’ve tried so far. And since you’re using yours for a more important purpose right now…” Sally couldn’t help hesitating, then hated herself for letting it show. Bad enough that they’d all already seen. Worse if she called attention to it in any way. Still, she couldn’t prevent her voice from gentling, any more than she’d been able to stop herself from that involuntary pause. “Sir? I need to try your phone.”  
  
Lestrade did not look up from the tight ball in which he’d wrapped himself, arms locked around his knees, face buried in his forearms. She could see sweat beading his hairline, and from the rigidity of his posture, she could guess that if she touched him, she would feel the tremors of over-taxed muscles.  
  
If touching him didn’t cause him to snap.  
  
“Sir?” she asked again, hopelessly.  
  
But beyond hope – and despite his near-crippling claustrophobia – Lestrade responded. Not in words, but one hand freed itself from its death-grip long enough to dip into his pocket, pull out his mobile, unlock it, and hold it out. She could see his hand shaking. As soon as Sally lifted the mobile, Lestrade’s hand returned to its former position.  
  
He never, ever looked up, not once, during the entire operation.  
  
It was one of the bravest acts she’d ever seen.  
  
“Thank you,” she breathed.  
  
Courage like that should have had an immediate reward. If there was any justice in the universe, Lestrade’s mobile would have had a signal. But no matter how Sally tried, no matter how many places she held it in the broken elevator, it, like all the others, remained stubbornly inoperable.  
  
“It’s an old elevator system,” Sherlock said softly. “We’re essentially in a Faraday cage. No signals in or out.”  
  
It was the last thing Sally wanted to hear – and _really_ the last thing she wanted Lestrade to hear. “Dammit!” She swallowed back her rage, knowing it couldn’t help, and tried to distract them – him – with something, anything else. “I can’t be late tonight. I have a really important date.”  
  
“Oh really?” Sally couldn’t tell if Sherlock was playing along, genuinely curious, or just being his usual arrogant self. “Someone better than the abhorrent Anderson, I trust.”  
  
“Oi! I never _dated_ Anderson,” Sally snapped. It was true, in its own way – and she sure as hell didn’t want Gregson learning that she’d once had an affair with a co-worker. If he really thought it was true (and remembered it despite his concussion), he’d make her life hell. Gregson was a stickler for procedure.  
  
“The sooner we get out of here, the happier I’m sure we’ll all be,” John interjected, before giving Sally a brief smile. “But I’m glad to hear you have a nice date lined up, Sally. I hope you won’t have to give him a rain check. Care to tell us a bit about the lucky fellow?”  
  
Under normal circumstances, Sally wouldn’t have dreamed of uttering a word in Sherlock’s hearing, or even in Gregson’s, and maybe not even Lestrade’s. But these circumstances were far from normal, and she found herself considering it, words hovering on her tongue.  
  
A loud clanking noise froze those words forever unspoken in her mouth. She held her breath, listening with all her might, vaguely aware that John and Sherlock were doing the same.  
  
Another clanking noise, and then a soft susurration.  
  
“Rescue?” she breathed, barely a whisper of sound.  
  
“Maybe.” Sherlock’s answer was, if anything, even quieter. “Maybe not.”  
  
 _Because maybe the elevator did not break on its own. Because we only_ thought _we’d caught them all._  
  
Because it might be someone looking for us to help – or coming to see if we survived the sabotage?  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Sally saw John ease Gregson to the floor, freeing himself to move if needed. One hand crept underneath his jacket, towards the small of his back. Sally forced her attention away from that, away from Sherlock, who crouched, tensed, looking like a gargoyle ready to spring. She shifted her own position to bring herself between the two incapacitated officers and the door, and held out Lestrade’s phone, hoping for a change in signal strength, one finger on the camera button. If nothing else, a sudden flash might buy them a precious second or two.  
  
If it was needed.  
  
If those sounds meant anything at all.  
  
There was nothing else she could do but wait and hope.

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt: After what they assumed to be the end of a case, Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Sally,and a new DI no one knows that well called Gregson all went into a lift. Then the real criminal sabotaged the lift, sticking the five between two floors. One is bleeding, one is concussed, one is claustrophobic, one is late for a very important date, and one has a broken watch. 
> 
> Originally posted: Dec. 26th, 2011


End file.
